Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now
by thecagedstarkdove
Summary: In the streets there is murder. Bodies lay limp and unmoving on cracked pavement. Blood cakes the road and the rancid fumes of rotting flesh rises. The sun, unforgiving and wicked, hangs high overhead. Morals have long been forgotten and the world has taken a turn for the worst. Everybody has a story on how they've survived such a traitorous environment. Curious? Brittana


A clap of thunder sounded off, shaking the building and stirring the blonde into an upright position. Full lips parted and a needy gulp of air was sucked into her lungs. Shaking hands brushed up her arms as she tried to calm herself, but the soothing touches did nothing but cause her discontent. Eyes fluttered shut and Brittany closed her mouth tightly into a straight line. A trail of sweat ran between her breasts and her white, dirtied wife beater clung to her salty flesh like a second skin. Slender fingers found their way into a mess of golden locks and with an exasperated sigh, she began to tie it back tightly. Bangs, too long without a proper cut obscured her vision as she gazed about the room.

As she turned her head sapphire eyes fell on the body next to her; a thin, worn, frayed blanket was wrapped around the sleeping form. She reached out, ready to wake him, but hesitated and after a moment withdrew her hand. He didn't need to be woken, not now. She would let him rest and rise on his own time. Sleep was a pleasant thing and Brittany was happy that at least somebody could relax their bones.

Irritatedly, the blonde rapped her knuckles against the side of her head, trying to bring herself into a state of awareness. It was irritating that her own body wouldn't bless her with the ability to keep calm long enough to fit a few hours of sleep into her long days. Her limbs ached and her mind was laden with woes, fears and exhaustion.

She slipped off of the bed, pressing hot feet against the grimy floor. Back before all of this had started she had been a cheery person. Sometimes she would slip into her memories and make believe that she was still that young girl with foolish ideas who readily took risks. If you focused too much on the now, Brittany knew, one would surely get pulled down. The reality of the situation was that now it was too dangerous to indulge in too risky to be foolish. But still, in the comfort of her own apartment (room) there was no harm in escaping back to a better time.

The blonde cleared her throat and stretched her arms above her head. A choked groan tumbled from her lips as she roused herself; balancing on her toes, twisting her body, clenching and unclenching her thighs. She could feel the thin material of her sweatpants brush against her legs as she moved about. Then, with a confident, self motivated murmur, Brittany glided through the room towards the door. She stumbled slightly, head light and legs weak. She felt drunk, but knew that it was only her exhausted body which was causing the loss of control over her limbs. Trying her best, the blonde swiftly avoided various items which were scattered across the floor like land mines strewn and hidden on the field of battle.

The air in the apartment was thick and hard to breathe; heavy with heat and rancid with the scents of spoiled food and death which fumed from the cracked streets below. Her eyes flitted over to the window, but she didn't dare look down on the desolate world below, only gazed through the tinted glass into the building across the street. A face, ominous and unmoving gazed back at her and the blonde swallowed thickly before turning away. That person, creature, was always there, looking back. From the distance she couldn't tell if it was a mannequin, or a being who was rooted to the spot, too sad and scared to move any farther than their window. That face haunted her and the need to close the blinds itched at her hands, but she didn't make a move to force away the foreboding image, only knelt down to pick up the laundry basket which was placed by the door and stacked high with clothes which needed cleaning.

Brittany hadn't been down to the washing room in a long while, too afraid to slip into the dark hallways of the twenty story apartment complex. He, however, was sleeping and she felt it her duty to complete this small task. So, after a quick pep talk to herself, low, breathy and unsure, Brittany turned to the door. She balanced the weight of the laundry basket against her hip, clutching and securing it's place with her left hand as the right wrapped around the doorknob. It felt hot against the tips of her fingers and a thin amount of something thick and sticky coated her hand as she turned it. Using her shoulder, Brittany pushed out into the hall, causing the thin door to scrape against the split, tiled flooring outside of the apartment. The door felt thin against her skin and as she moved away from it, the blonde realized that it wasn't anything but breakable wood which was hollow in the middle. Anything could come in and take away her life in the stillness of the night. It didn't matter how many locks were on the door, the only thing that provided was false security.

With a quick glance back, the blonde observed the boy on the bed; his form rising and falling as his lungs filled with the tainted air. Brittany hoped that his dreams were pleasant and not frightful and realistic like the ones she had been burdened with as of late. Reality made real in the confines of her head; guns, smoke, ammunition, bodies, torture and gore. She pressed her right palm against the wall to her side and sighed deeply.

After a moment of thought, Brittany closed the door and turned to head to the stairwell. Their apartment was on the topmost floor and that knowledge made her legs shake as she began the decline. Brittany had always been afraid of heights, but Sam had convinced her that the safest place to live would be up high where they were out of sight and out of mind. She trusted him more than she trusted herself, so without much of an argument she had agreed to living in the tall, brick building.

Her strong hand wrapped around the railing as bare feet ghosted across the metal stairs, slowly bringing her towards her destination. Still balancing the weight of the laundry basket against her hip, Brittany adjusted slightly, shifting it upward and holding it tighter against her side. She didn't want the contents spilling out. The blonde refused to carry it with two hands, that would render her unable to hold onto the railing (her only lifeline if she fell).

The blonde was brought out of her muddled thoughts on Sam and the apocalypse as something sharp tore through the skin on her heel, imbedding itself snuggly in her foot. She winced slightly and bit at her lower lip, trying helplessly not to cry out, knowing that would only draw attention to herself. Hurriedly, Brittany sat down, setting the basket to the side and brought her leg up, placing it over her left thigh to better examine the wound. A strangled whimper tumbled from her mouth as she looked, the sight of her injury making it more painful than before. Blood. It ran thick and hot down the bottom of her foot and as she held it, the amber liquid trailed downward, running slow, like candle wax into the palm of her hand. Blue eyes raked over the dull end of the glass, too deep in her flesh to pull out with her fingers. Why had she left without slipping shoes on first? How foolish, how forgetful.

Hopelessly, she craned her neck to gaze upward and felt her stomach drop as she observed how far she had come. Yes, going back with this hunk of broken glass in her foot would prove to be quite difficult. For a moment the blonde debated crying out, calling for Sam to come save her, but quickly shut her mouth. "No unwanted attention, Brittany," she whispered the reminder. There must be a different way. The bottom floor was only another flight down. There had to be some kind of bathroom, some kind of first aid down there, right? There was, after all, a laundry room. It was her best shot at resolving this matter quickly.

She forwent taking the basket with her; it would be too much of a burden to carry the clothes as she limped through the apartment complex. Hands, strong and determined, wrapped around the warm exterior of the rail. Brittany leaned her weight against it and with a huff, began to make her way down. After a few leaps the blonde could feel her leg muscles growing tired. Her body was already worn from over exertion in days before and her carelessness hadn't helped her situation. Brittany knew that with her luck the wound would surely become infected. Without the proper antibiotics it would be difficult to heal the injury properly.

Another limp and a halfhearted leap, Brittany found herself on the first level of the building. She turned her head to look around and was suddenly all too aware of the darkness which hung in the halls, heavy overhead and all around her. The walls, yellow and peeling with old paint, splattered with crimson specks and reeking of rotten food, made bile rise to the back of her throat.

She hobbled there, on one foot, trying to balance herself as she observed the area. A door in front led out to the streets and to her left there was a hall. The hair on the back of her neck prickled at the thought of the door to the right. There had once been a man that lived there, but he was gone now. His outlook on life and careless mouth had been his downfall. Brittany remembered being stunted as she watched the murderous scene unfold. A knife, two men, a pained scream and a lifeless thud. She had hidden in the corner of the stairs, shielded by dark and after all was said and done, the blonde had scurried back to safety, back to Sam.

Only a ghost stayed in that apartment now. The apparition of the landlord who once was. And as she turned, slowly shuffling down the hall, one leg dragging loosely along the floor, Brittany could feel the eyes on the back of her head. Watching her, observing the way her muscles flexed and how her dirty locks flicked from side to side from momentum. How her injury rendered her incapable of moving quickly. The way that blood trailed after her.

Without a railing to hold onto, Brittany let her body lean against the wall and couldn't help but shudder at the disgusting texture against her skin. She told herself over and over that this was just something that she needed to bear through. There wasn't any turning back now.

As she pressed on, the blonde passed doors leading to other peoples apartments. She doubted that anybody lived in them. People surely wouldn't be fool enough to inhibit a place this close to the streets. If Sam had taught her one useful thing it was to always be wary of what was out there. Criminals ran freely when the laws no longer applied. But no murderer wanted to go out of their way and walk up twenty story's to steal and kill people who had and did nothing. As long as you stayed out of the way then there wouldn't be any trouble. Brittany knew that coming down here was risky and brought her close to the streets, but the clothes smelt too putrid to wear anymore. She needed to do something about it and the blonde knew that every task couldn't be left for Sam to take care of, no matter how he persisted.

There was a doorway up ahead, the end of the hall, the laundry room. There was no door, only a frame which had dirtied paint chipping from the dried wood. As Brittany slowly made her way forward, she muttered sweet nothings to herself. There was a strange force behind her, the thing which had been watching since she arrived on the first floor. She dared not look, too afraid of what was there. Instead, the blonde just made her way through the doorway, fingertips gripping at the wood to stabilize herself.

Trying her best to kick the other thing's presence to the back of her mind, Brittany busied her thoughts with conversations on where to look for a first aid kit. The rusted laundry machines hardly looked functional and Brittany wondered how long it had been since one had been used. Before this, she had been washing their clothes in the rusted water which spurted from their kitchen sink. Old dish soap, which they had found in a deserted supermarket months before had been used to wash away blood, bacteria, dirt and other nasty bits from the streets, but that was gone now. Brittany had made a plan the night before that she would venture to the laundry room and look for actual laundry soap. Sam would be pleased that his clothes no longer smelled like rotting fish…

She hobbled slightly, foot dragging and arms outstretched for balance. The floor was caked with dirt which had gathered over the past months and there was an old bottle of laundry detergent which had been opened and left forgotten, laying there. Brows furrowed, Brittany made her way over, bent, and brushed her hand over the exterior. The bottle rocked in place and from the weight against her hand, she could tell that there was some in there. Well, at least this little adventure hadn't been for nothing, right? Brittany smiled and tried her best to let a little bit of cheer into her heart. It was the little things that you needed to hold onto. The small fortunes that were given. A grace of luck. Look on the bright side, even if the bad completely overrides it.

Grasping the jug like bottle in her hand, Brittany lifted it up to eye level and peered inside. She watched as the blue substance clung to the plastic walls and slowly dripped down, gathering in a small pool at the bottom. There wasn't too much there, but it would at least be enough to last them a few weeks. If she dished out the right amount, didn't use too much, then she and Sam wouldn't have to worry about disgusting clothes for a while.

"Now to just find that damn medicine k-…"

Words were cut short as a blunt object slammed against the side of her head. A choked noise tumbled from her lips as she fell to her knees, the detergent slipping from her hands, landing back where she had picked it up. The blonde's world was engulfed slowly in darkness. She brought her hand up to her head and pressed her fingers against her temple. There was blood there and it was quickly making a trail down the side of her face. Always one to fight, Brittany tried to stand up, but as she stood shakily to her feet, the glass imbedded in her foot only sank in further and she screamed out.

There was a shuffling of heavy feet behind her and the blonde knew, in that moment, that she would surely die on this day.

A pain tore through her legs as she crashed down to the floor, knees striking the tiles.

Brittany felt the weapon again, this time crashing against her ribs, hard and unforgiving. Blue eyes rolled into the back of her head and just like that, she was gone.

xxxx

**Dear readers, I hope this starts to set things up for you. Yes, I invented this world. It hasn't been stolen and I discovered it in a dream I had the other night. The dream was so detailed, I couldn't stop myself from writing.**

**No, Brittany isn't dead, don't worry.**

**The next chapter will either be Rachel, or Santana, I haven't decided yet. Chapter two will provide a bit more background on the apocalypse and hopefully get that ball rolling a bit.**

**Please, review my work. Tell me if it's good, ideas you may have, ect. This is my first attempt at a fanfiction. Hopefully it's good enough.**


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